


unfolding in each moment

by aiineslin



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiineslin/pseuds/aiineslin
Summary: in another time, in another place, everything turned out fine.alternatively, four times debbie died and once where she didn't.tw: child abuse, death and violence.





	unfolding in each moment

**Author's Note:**

> \- you gotta have a four times/one time au  
> \- needed to get this off my chest, the idea was rattling around too loudly in my head  
> \- unbeta'd, apologies for any grammatical errors or long-windedness  
> \- chat w/ me on thedennings.tumblr.com!

We all know how the first time went.

She died in ice and water, screaming into darkness. 

*

They trod carefully around Dad.

It was a survival skill to know what triggered him into a fit of rage. You learnt how to make yourself smaller, avoided direct eye contact with him, and you always, _always_ acquired sudden deafness when he started shouting at another member of the household.

Life was easier for Debbie in some ways.

She knew she did not bear the full brunt of his rage. That ugly honour went to Carol, who took his anger into herself and returned it with a white-hot fury.

It was not uncommon to hear shouting matches go down between Carol and Dad.

(Barbara drew his attention sometimes. Those incidents were rarer, for Barbara knew how to slip out of attention when she needed to. But she always had to visit the hospital after Dad taught her a lesson, and she always refused to look at the mirror during the recovery period.

Dad knew how to hit a person where it hurt the most.)

It took very little to set Dad off when it came to Carol.

This was just another night in the Denning household, when Dad was tearing into Carol for some trivial matter, and Mom and Barbara and Debbie were pretending that nothing was happening, their gaze fixed on their half-eaten, swiftly cooling dinner.

Barbara was picking listlessly at her food, her fork chasing the little bit of mashed potato she had left around her plate when Dad stood up, kicking his chair back in a great clatter of wood.

“You’re never going to learn unless I teach you a lesson, you little cunt,” Dad was saying, and he reached out and grabbed Carol by the hair, hauling her bodily off her chair.

Carol let out a scream, high-pitched and twisted; Barbara shoved herself back from the table, her blank expression shattering into disgust; amidst the noise, Mom was shouting, “Ronnie, please don’t, I don’t know how to explain this to Dr Meadows -”

Unbidden, Debbie had leapt from her chair.

“You’ll _kill_ her,” cried out Debbie, hurrying towards Dad. Carol was doing her damned best to pull away from Dad, her fists beating futilely at Dad’s arm. “Daddy, stop, stop, please -”

“ _Shut the fuck up, you little rat_.”

Debbie was a small-sized girl, made of delicate skin and fragile bones. Dad was a big man, all corded muscle and calloused hands. His slap – no, punch – knocked her right off her feet and sent her straight into the wooden dining table, her head knocking sharply against its edge.

She slid down to the floor, feeling a sticky wetness trickle down the back of her head.

Around her, the shouting had increased, and here was Dad, pushing himself into her field of vision, panic written all over his face.

“Debbie,” Daddy was saying, his big hands cradling her, trying to put her back together. “Debbie, I didn’t mean to, Debbie, darling -“

Debbie went in a haze of blood and confusion, and only felt relief when the world finally quietened into blessed peace.

*

Dad and Mom had important guests over for lunch, and that meant the Denning sisters were kicked out of the house.

(Debbie could have stayed; Mom did so like to parade her little jewel and its achievements in front of guests. But Dad had said, “Let her get some fresh air, Alice. I don’t want Bob Groening to look at her.” And Mom let Debbie go with Barbara and Carol with nary a word.)

They ended up at a playground near the house, a run-down affair populated by a few sad, quietly rusting pieces of equipment.

Barbara swiftly plonked herself down on the very edge of the broken-down see-saw and proceeded to ignore Carol and Debbie as she picked at her nails, muttering about how chipped they were.

The duo wandered around the playground for a short while – there really wasn’t much to look at, anyways – and finally, they stopped in front of the swing, a massive, rusting old contraption with dirty seats.

Debbie fidgeted a little as Carol stared at the swing; she had a _terrible_ feeling about this, Carol only went silent when she was thinking about something, and those somethings were usually –

“Hey Debbie,” said Carol, breaking the silence abruptly. “I got a dare for you.”

“ _What_?” A squeak escaped Debbie.

“Oh, come now,” drawled Carol, turning towards her. “But well, I guess sweet little Debbie would never do a _daaaare_ -“

“I would too,” blurted out Debbie.

She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, the vicious twist to Carol’s lips confirmed her worst fears when the older girl rose to her feet, jabbing her thumb towards the horrid old swing.

“I double dog dare you,” said Carol with great satisfaction. “To swing all the way up. You gotta be almost perpendicular –“

“ _Parallel_ ,” corrected Barbara. Both glanced over to her, where she appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in her nails, turning them this way and that.

Carol scowled, kicking some sand into Barbara’s direction. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”  She rounded on Debbie, her grin flashing wicked-fast back on to her face. “How about it, Debbers? Betcha won’t do it, yeah?”

See, here’s the thing about Debbie: one did not last long as a competitive gymnast if they did not possess a streak of competitiveness.

Debbie stood up, her hands bunched into tight little fists. “I would too.”

Carol pushed her face far too close to Debbie, and hissed, “So do it, you little fucker, and quit standing around with your thumb up your ass.”

For a moment, Debbie’s gaze darted over to Barbara, hoping that the girl would put a halt to the proceedings. But Barbara was simply watching the situation unfold with her chin propped in a hand.

Carol grinned smugly down at her. “Double dog dare, Deb. You ain’t getting out of this.”

Debbie expelled the long breath of air she was holding. “ _Fine_! Fine.”

So saying, she stalked over to the swings, Carol hopping from one foot to another in glee behind her.

The swing creaked ominously as she settled into it, and for a moment, Debbie felt her heart quaver – perhaps she _should_ back out of this. But she looked up and ahead, and the smirk on Carol’s face was so gosh-darn _smug –_

Debbie bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and swung.

It took a few tries, but soon she was flying high, and the cold autumn wind whipping into her face paired with the glimpses she got of the playground from above was enough to send little flickers of delight through her.

“Debbie!” Carol was yelling excitedly. “Just a little more and you’ll be parallel!”

“Just a little more!” called Debbie, and she swung just a little harder. Beneath her, the swing set creaked and moaned alarmingly.

Debbie went with the blue sky burnt into her eyes, the world crashing abruptly into darkness.

*

She was a gymnast just the way her parents liked it; she represented the United States at the Olympics and won a Silver while at it. Debbie was flying high, dancing on top of the world. There were big plans for her; endorsements and invitations were pouring in at all corners. She was going to be famous.

Everything came tumbling down when Debbie got into The Accident.

It was just a run-of-the-mill grand jete, something she had done _thousands_ of times, but this landing felt strange and awkward, and by the time she was struggling up from the ground, the pains were beginning.

Debbie had no real idea how Barbara finagled it, but a week after she got into The Accident, a (reasonably) famous surgeon had slotted her in for an appointment.

After the surgery, people visited. They came with flowers and chocolates and stupid stuffed toys. Some Dennings and Phillips even stopped by, but Debbie imagined their condolences were tinged with schadenfreude – _finally_ , _Ronnie and Alice would stop talking about their blasted daughter_.

Mom and Dad visited for the first few days, but their visits petered off. It was too depressing, Mom claimed, to see their beloved daughter wasting away in a bed.

I’m _resting_ , Debbie wanted to shout, I’m not _dying_.

Nobody knew where Carol was, it was next to impossible to get ahold of her; the last number she had given them led to a dead end of an angry Russian woman spitting invectives down the phone.

Dad had snarled, “Good riddance to worthless trash.” And that was the end of their search for Carol.

(Not that the Dennings tried very hard to look for Carol when she ran away the moment she hit eighteen.

Sometimes, Debbie was sure that if given enough incentive to do so, Barbara could have found Carol.

The woman had the uncanny ability to hunt down the errant middle child, though the last time she exercised this unusual telepathy was when Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. In any case, Debbie was perfectly fine with Carol not visiting her at the hospital; as it was, she was under enough stress.)

The days at the hospital were dull; her waking hours were spent in pain and mind-numbing boredom. The only bright spot in her otherwise colourless days was Barbara.

Her sister popped by every moment she could, bringing sweet treats and bits of work-related gossip. By the fourth day, Debbie knew who was having sex with who, which nurse was a druggie and to never, ever eat any hospital dish with tuna in it. When Barbara took the second shift, she would drop by Debbie’s room thirty minutes before her shift ended and stay with her till six or seven, talking shit and sharing beauty tips.

This was yet another day, but Barbara was preparing to go a little earlier than usual, and Debbie was bored and far too awake. As Barbara moved around the room, packing up her things and checking over Debbie’s medical equipment as she always did, Debbie felt a strange twinge of anxiety pull at her heart.

“Stay a little longer, Barb,” said Debbie, shifting slightly to angle her body towards Barbara. “It’s really boring at night.”

“So it should,” retorted Barbara drily as she fiddled with the IV drip. “This is a hospital, not a mall.”

“Ugh,” grumbled Debbie, settling herself further into the bed.

 Above her, Barb snorted, and reached down to tousle her hair. “Don’t be a baby, kid.”

“I’m _not_ ,” muttered Debbie. “It’s just, it’s just.” She lifted a hand, pressing it to her chest. “I’ve been having these chest pains all day long – so. I mean. It’ll be nice to have some company.”

In the half-darkness of the room, Barbara’s face was cast in shadow.

“Mm-hmm,” said Barbara, sitting down abruptly in the visitor’s chair. “Fine. Mom and Dad won’t be too mad at me for keeping their golden daughter entertained, right?”

“Dad could do without a dinner for one night,” said Debbie sharply. “He’s, ooh – I swear, these headaches are getting ridiculous…” She closed her eyes, kneading at her temples before letting her hand fall bonelessly on to the bedsheets, a weakness taking over her body. There was a strange weight in the space between her ribcage.

“Barb?” said Debbie into the quiet room. “Barb? Barb, it hurts.”

Her head really did hurt, and the chest pains were increasing, and oh, the world was getting strange and blurry -

Barbara took Debbie’s limp hand into her calloused palms, her face a mask of bland concern. As Debbie looked through the haze of pain, the mask receded inch by inch, revealing a blank, utterly still countenance.

As Barbara watched her sister slip away, her face was one of benign contemplation, a detached observer’s incurious gaze.

 _Shark eyes,_ Debbie thought as the breath began to leave her lungs, long-buried memories of an old documentary flickering to the forefront of her mind. _Those are shark eyes._

 *

In this world, in this time, they talked.

They spoke of the things Dad made Barbara and Debbie do. They spoke of the bruises that were left on Carol’s arms and less obvious places. They spoke of their shiftless lifestyle, the invisible chains that weighed down on them.

It was maddeningly, thoroughly obvious to the trio that this was a life they did not want. It was _something_ that pulled them together, a common dissatisfaction that brewed and strengthened a bond.

They spoke of _options_.

“We could run away,” Debbie said after one particularly bad night. They were hiding out in Carol’s bedroom. Barbara had the first aid kit out, dabbing antiseptic on to the fresh cut on Carol’s forehead, a new scar gained from a flung teacup. “Kids are always doing it in tv shows.”

Barbara and Carol snorted simultaneously, causing Debbie to flinch away, frowning slightly. “Look, it’s just an idea -”

“You don’t get it, Debs,” Barbara said, dabbing at the cut with a little more strength than necessary. “Me and Carol, we could up and die the next day and they’d never care. You? They’d probably go on the telly for you.”

“They wouldn’t be able to go on the telly if they were dead,” muttered Carol. She winced as Barbara pressed down hard on the cut. “Jesus fucking Christ, Barb!”

“That’s an idea, I suppose,” Barbara said, briskly taping a square pad of gauze on the cut. “Could be tough to execute, though.”

Carol’s head lolled up to look at her, the girl letting herself flop bonelessly on to Barbara’s lap. “Huh, I’m surprised _you’re_ saying that.”

Beside them, Debbie blinked, her eyes widening as what her sisters were saying began to sink in.

“Are you guys actually _serious_?”

Barbara hummed, Carol fidgeted.

“Oh my god,” muttered Debbie, huddling closer to Barbara and Carol, her eyes wide with horror and awe. “You actually are.”

“Well,” said Barbara, sharing a significant look with Carol. “Killing them had always been an option.”

“Mom too?” whispered Debbie.

“Mom too,” confirmed Carol, blinking slowly. For some reason, she wore an odd smirk when she looked at Barbara. “We could kill ‘em with glass in their dinner.”

Barbara snorted, poking at Carol’s gauze. “I've told you before, that won’t work. It’s too obvious.”

“But Mom...”

Barbara reached over and gripped Debbie’s hand. Her usually flippant tone had disappeared, and when she spoke, her voice was hard and bitter.  “Mom stopped being a mom when she didn’t stop Dad.”

“But where would we go?” Debbie asked, her mind leaping over to practicalities. The idea of Mom and Dad dying - well, more specifically, Dad - was too large and horrible to contemplate. Yet it was oddly, awfully alluring, and Debbie did not look too close at it for fear of what it will show of her heart. “We need to think about that -”

“America is a big country,” said Barbara briskly. “I’ve got a driving license. We could go to another state. Change our names. Nobody’s gonna come looking. No-one cares enough about Dad or Mom to worry about ‘em, or us.”

“We could go to Africa,” blurted out Debbie.

“What the absolute fuck-“

“No, she’s right,” interrupted Barbara. Her eyes were shining. “We can go anywhere.”

For a moment, they were silent, each thinking of future possibilities.

“Won’t you miss your boyfriend, Barbie doll?” Carol’s taunting voice broke the silence, a lopsided smirk playing around her lips.

“Oh, _boys_ ,” said Barbara carelessly. “Boys exist everywhere.” She grinned, her teeth sharp and white. “I’m in.”

Ronnie and Alice Denning died in each other’s arms.

Old houses, the police coroner said, were so terribly _unsafe._ They lacked carbon monoxide alarms, it was ever so easy for gas stoves to leak, and in such a poorly ventilated space, the gas got _everywhere_.

How lucky it was that the oldest Denning girl had taken her sisters out that night – well, of course, it was rather unhealthy for the youngest girl to be exposed to the horrors of alcohol and loud music before a certain age – really, the oldest Denning girl should not have been around alcoholic substances too, but – well, at least they weren’t _dead_ …

The surviving Dennings staged a small, quiet funeral for their parents. Nobody else attended; Ronnie and Alice had not been popular around town. They moved a week later, saying they were going to New York to live with their auntie.

And that, was the last anybody ever heard of the Denning girls.

*

In another time, in another place, everything turned out fine.

**Author's Note:**

> \- dying from a rusty swing is apparently common enough to warrant news stories  
> \- speed of death via air embolism differs from account to account. if it didn't come across too clearly in the story, barb had been fiddling with deb's medical stuff throughout the day. she just sped up deb's death a little faster towards the end.  
> \- i hope i'm not on a list for researching how to murder someone via carbon monoxide poisoning


End file.
